


sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine

by incandescentfae



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Trans Daniel Jacobi, i dont think its mentioned but its important to me, jacobi centric, lark typical bad prose, minor injury, si5 typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:47:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28683513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incandescentfae/pseuds/incandescentfae
Summary: Daniel Jacobi knows about explosions. He knows how to use a bomb as a precision instrument, a scalpel, in a way that would almost be called delicate if there wasn't quite so much shrapnel and smoke.
Relationships: Daniel Jacobi & Alana Maxwell, Daniel Jacobi & Warren Kepler, Daniel Jacobi & Warren Kepler & Alana Maxwell, Warren Kepler & Alana Maxwell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine

Daniel Jacobi knows about explosions. He knows how to use a bomb as a precision instrument, a scalpel, in a way that would almost be called delicate if there wasn't quite so much shrapnel and smoke. 

Kepler, he thinks, knows something about that too. Jacobi is good at breaking things, and Kepler is good at pointing him in the direction of the thing to break, good at applying just enough pressure. Good at using him as the weapon he was always meant to be. 

Maxwell, though, is different. Where he’s anger and fire and destruction, she  _ creates, _ her thoughts moving faster than even he can keep up. Kepler could point her in any direction he wanted to, and she’d turn around to laugh in his face. And that, Jacobi thinks, is why the three of them work so well together. That is why the three of them are a unit. A leader called monster, a man turned bomb, a woman who does not always think she’s human,. One to give orders, one to obey, one to point out the flaw.

“Hurry up.” Jacobi says, in lieu of voicing any of these thoughts, and Maxwell kicks at his ankle without sparing a glance from the monitor.

“Shut up and let me work, if you want me to get the information then I have to disable the security system before we are all in  _ very deep shit _ .”   
“What’s it gonna do, set off an alarm? Flash a light? I’m shaking.”

“You’re adorable. It won’t do either of those things. In fact, you won’t even know it’s activated until it fills the room with chloroform and you wake up in an interrogation room.”

“I hate interrogation rooms. Colonel, you got any gas masks or anything?” Kepler, ever the picture of inappropriate cheer, chuckles.

“Gas masks? No, Mr Jacobi, I do not have any gas masks.”

“Of course, the one time you’re not ridiculously overprepared.”

“I am never overprepared. I don’t believe in overprepared.”

“Mhm. Maxwell, got an ETA here?”

“Do you not see what I’m working with? It’s practically a crime for a tech company to have computers this old.” Thankfully, though, he sees her pull out her flash drive, and nearly breathes a sigh of relief. It’s then he hears the footsteps. He recognizes the pace, the footfalls of someone trying to simultaneously rush and be stealthy. It’s not an easy feat, and whoever this is (he could hazard a guess) they’re not very good at it.

“We’ve got security coming, Doctor Maxwell. I would recommend you hurry.”

“Goddamnit, you must have missed a camera.”

“I never miss a camera.”

“Well, they found us  _ somehow. _ ”

“I just need fourty more seconds.”

“Got it.” He cocks his gun, momentarily wishing he had an excuse to use an explosive instead, as Kepler takes up a position beside him. It’s familiar, grounding-Keplers back to his, Alana typing furiously, trying to speed up the download, and his adrenaline building by the second. 

In hindsight, his first mistake was assuming there was only one guard coming. That proves false, when the door opens and at least ten highly armed men rush in, guns first.

“Jacobi-”

“I  _ see _ them, Colonel-”

“Twenty more seconds!”

“Three over- _ Get down- _ ”

“Over here-”

“Fifteen, come on, come on-”

His second mistake was assuming that he had Alana covered. Protected.  _ That  _ one proves false when she cries out in pain.

“Oh,  _ fuck- _ ”

“ _ Alana! _ ”

“Jacobi-”

“She’s hurt, Colonel, watch my six. Alana? Alana, are you-” She’s holding her side, frantic typing forgotten for a moment as she winces.

“Had worse. I’m fine. It just grazed me.” She pulls herself back up to the screen, gritting her teeth.   
“Five...four...three…”

“We need to get out, and double time it. Jacobi-”   
“Yes sir.” He pulls a small silver disk out of his pocket, depressing the button immediately. It won’t go off until five seconds after he lets go.

“Got it.” He hears her snap the protective case back over her flash drive, ducking back underneath the desk.

“Good. Get moving. Far corner, try and take cover.”

“Daniel-”   
“I know what I’m doing. You’ve got ten seconds.” Thankfully, neither of them argues any further, even as Jacobi stands up.

“Hey assholes, did you hear the one about the demolitions expert in the tech lab?” He throws it, and then himself, the three of them huddled in the corner of the room and shielded by a desk. He uses the last two seconds to cover Maxwell, draping himself over her as the explosion turns the room white hot and singes his skin.

There's a reason Jacobi, all restless energy and mile a minute thoughts and quick temper, likes explosions so much. Wind him up and set him off in the right direction, watch the demolitions expert explode. (There’s a reason a man who cares for so few people finds himself with such a short fuse when one of them is threatened.) 

Thirty seconds. Five to buy Kepler and Maxwell time, five to detonate, twenty for silence to fall again.

“Maxwell?” He chokes out, ash and dust invading his lungs with every breath. “Maxwell, you good?”

“Fine.” She manages. “You’re lucky we got what we needed before you went all nuclear approach.”

“And you’re lucky you had such a smart, talented teammate. ‘Gee, Jacobi, that sure was some quick thinking!’ ‘Aw, thanks Alana, but you know how it is. Explosions are what I do.’”

“Mister Jacobi. Doctor Maxwell. Don’t you think we had better get out of here?”   
“Right you are, Colonel.”

“Yeah, definitely. I might need stitches.”

“And here I was hoping we wouldn’t need to do any impromptu surgery today.”

“Oh, come on, Mister Jacobi. You know what we say about unrealistic expectations.”

There’s something achingly familiar about this, covered in blood and bruises and soot, arms around his teammates as they make their escape. He wouldn’t trade it, no matter the pain. Not when he gets to have this.

* * *

“Damnit, Alana, I said to hold still.”

“I  _ am _ holding still. You’re the one shaking.”

“I’m not-oh.”

He  _ is _ shaking, which is...weird. He’s seen plenty of blood, plenty of injury, stitched up plenty of wounds. But most of those were on himself. It’s rare that Maxwell gets hurt, and to be honest Jacobi isn’t sure if he knows half the time, when Kepler is hurt. The man seems to have new scars a lot for somebody that doesn’t get hurt on missions. More likely he refuses to let Jacobi or Maxwell see him hurt, and instead just quietly bleeds like an  _ idiot. _ Not the point.

The point is...he doesn’t like seeing her hurt. There’s a part of him, a part he’s tried to destroy for years, that feels protective. A part of him that hurts every time she hurts, that fills with anger and hatred when she is threatened. Wind him up and set him off in the right direction, watch the demolitions expert explode. Both Alana Maxwell and Warren Kepler are incredibly skilled in this area, in their own ways.   
He takes a deep breath, forces his hands to steady themselves, when he feels a weight on his shoulder.

“I’ve got this.” Kepler says, his hand warm and strong on his shoulder, steadying him. “Sit down before you pass out, Jacobi.”

Nobody is surprised when he sits down next to Alana. He can’t sling an arm around her shoulders like he usually would, given that her arm is over her head to allow easy access to the wound on her side, but he takes her free hand, squeezing it a little too tightly.

“Does widdle Maxwell need a hand to hold while she gets her big girl stitches?”

“You’re the one holding  _ my _ hand, jackass.”

“I didn’t want you to have to embarrass yourself by asking. I’m very thoughtful like that, ask anyone.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” But she squeezes back.  _ I’m here. I’m okay.  _ And then she squeezes a little harder when Kepler begins the stitches. He lets her.

“All done.” Kepler announces, a minute later. “Hardly even six stitches. You’ll have a hell of a scar to show for it though, Maxwell.”

“Oh,  _ good _ . I didn’t have enough of those yet, and they’re just  _ so cool. _ ” The sarcasm is familiar and welcome.   
“Yeah, keep it up and someday you’ll look as cool as me.” She elbows him in the ribs for that one, and he leans away, playfully wounded.

“No fair, I can’t even get you back! You fight dirty!”

“Speaking of-first shower!” She’s halfway to the door before he’s even on his feet. He gives that one up as a lost cause immediately-when she wants something, she is  _ determined,  _ and he knows better than to get in the way of that. The door to the bathroom clicks shut, and there is a long moment of quiet.

“You did good work today, Jacobi.” Kepler says, standing slowly. Jacobi stops himself just short from wishing that hand was on his shoulder again. In the quiet and stillness, the AC droning in the background, the guilt and fear and exhaustion of the day catch up with him, settling heavily. He fights the urge to slump even as his shoulders sag.

“Thank you, sir.” There’s a long pause, a weighted silence, and then Keplers hand almost hesitantly moves to his shoulder again, unexpected but not unwelcome. 

“Maxwell will be fine. You did nothing wrong.” He swallows, hard.

“She was shot.” He says, thickly, willing himself to just say  _ Yes sir, of course sir, absolutely fine  _ instead. But that's not the truth, that's not _what is the point of me if I don't step in front of a bullet for one of you?_ And Warren Kepler has a way of pulling the truth out, somehow.

“Grazed. It was six stitches. You know both of us have had much worse.”

“Not the point.”

“You did your job,  _ Mister Jacobi.  _ You covered her to the best of your ability, as did I. Things happen  _ anyway.  _ If there was anything wrong with your conduct on this mission, I would have told you so.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

“ _ Daniel. _ Look at me.” That gets his attention, his head snapping up. Kepler is staring at him, his expression...softer than Jacobi usually sees it. “What’s done is done. Everyone did their jobs, and did them well. Maxwell came away with a graze, and that was nobody’s fault. Do you understand me?”

“I do, sir.”

“Good.” Kepler's hand leaves his shoulder, even as his eyes stay locked on Jacobi’s. “No more of this nonsense, then.”

“Understood.”

The guilt sits on him a little less heavily that night, with Maxwell pressing her cold feet to him and Kepler providing sarcastic commentary for whatever movie is on the TV, sitting on the edge of their bed-with them, even if slightly apart. It becomes just one more incident to add to the weight in his chest. A weight that lightens, laughing with the two of them.


End file.
